


Between rock and hard place.

by blackwood_pines



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Cumming Inside Pants, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor canon divergence, Near Death Experiences, asphyxia, hints onto some disturbing stuff, humping an object, non-con chocking, old friends reunion that is kinda wholesome but also kinda really not, rick’s typical gaslighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwood_pines/pseuds/blackwood_pines
Summary: While running for his life Jeremy Blaire is (un)lucky enough to bump into familiar face. Whatever comes after that is less, than pleasant. Or is it?
Relationships: Richard Trager/Jeremy Blaire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Between rock and hard place.

**Author's Note:**

> those two are my otp. jeremy is my fav, so it had to happen at some point! also, i only ever write mister blaire in a tie and as a bottom. call this a preference. big thanks to my best friend for proofreading this. without them there would have been way more typos.

It’s a miracle, Jeremy’s jaw isn’t broken from how viciously Trager digs his fingers into his cheekbones. 

Blaire doesn’t try to fight Rick’s bruising, deadly grip - he is smarter than this – instead, he remains very-very still. Both of his hands lifted in front of him, palms open and visible, as if he is under the muzzle of a gun. One wrong move and he is a goner.

Rick was never a man of great patience. And with his back pressed to the wall, and Rick’s giant scissors casually thrusted between his legs, pretending to be calm seems like the best policy to have.

“Jeremy Blaire, what a surprise.” Trager announces with fake delight, voice as affable as it always was when they were about to share a round of martinis. “Haven’t expected to see you here!”

“R-rick, it’s nice to see you again.” Blaire chokes out, trying his hardest to not stare at how The Engine program had treated Trager. He remembers Richard as handsome and healthy. Recalls his trademark smirks; a slim-jim arm hooked around Jeremy’s waist, keeping them side by side, hip to hip. 

Rick was a quite the jokester, kind of a charmer. He hasn’t resembled a living, walking corpse. It feels like a lot of time had passed, since the last time, when Blaire seen him up close. Now, Trager looks like an old man, who was skinned alive. His grip is anything, but icy-cold, rough and not even subtly threatening. 

Jeremy finds himself somewhat struck by the difference.

“How you’ve been doin’, buddy?” Trager asks, inches away from Jeremy’s face. His breath stinks, because, of course it would. Jeremy barely holds back a wince, worrying that it might upset Rick if he would dare to demonstrate his disgust too openly. “It’s been a while since you came to visit.”

“F-fine. I’ve been doing fine.” Jeremy replies, nervous smirk dancing on the right corner of his mouth. But it’s too twitchy to fool anyone here. It doesn’t help, that Rick used to be good at reading him. “How about yourself?”

There is a pause.

A long one too.

“How about myself?” Trager repeats slowly, a shadow passes through his face as he tightens his grip in a clear warning. “Why, didn’t think you’d care to know.”

_Shit._

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Blaire racks his brain for some kind of an excuse, a better topic, but comes short. “I haven’t meant it in bad way.” 

He expects Trager to lose his cool right there, to clock him in the face, to murder him, but other man only snorts. Humorless as the sound is, it gives Jeremy some hope.

“Oh, ya know how it be! I was busy with work! So much work around here! Patients just ran to me themselves!” Rick’s tone lowers into something gleeful. His gaze becomes unfocused, like he is thinking about something, that only he is aware of. “I’m a doctor now, Jer. All thanks to you none the less.”

“You – you are?” Jeremy blinks, shallowing down whatever dumb remark, that was about to leave his tongue. He should have guessed, that The Engine would screw with Rick’s creepy medical fetish. Look at what it had done with Chris Walker, and he wasn’t even the craziest one. “You always wanted to be a – uh - surgeon.”

“You can say that, yeah.” Rick nods, for some reason still entertaining this conversation. It reminds Jeremy of times, when they had lunch together. Just sitting there and chatting. “Biology and anatomy are a pretty fascinating subject, if you give it a chance, Jer. I’ve always had an interest in it.”

“I know.” Blaire offers with strain, trying to sound engaged. “You’ve had all those medical journals.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been practicing too.” Trager says, looking around them with ill-placed cheer. All the blood and scratch marks on the floor, tells Jeremy everything that he needs to know about source of that twisted pride. “Learned a lot of new things. Like for example, person can’t live without their heart. Can you imagine that?”

“I – yeah.” Jeremy frowns. This should be sort of obvious to anyone, really. 

“But you wait until you learn what happens, when you stab someone in lungs!” Rick’s eyes light up at the memory. “Now, that’s a real shocker! I was surprised to see the result!”

“I can…imagine.” 

Skin on Rick’s forehead moved up as if he lifting a brow at him. “Can you, now?” 

Jeremy licks his lips, not missing how Rick’s eyes snap onto his mouth, trailing after the movement with longing. Blaire is more than sure, that right now, Trager's imagining how he cuts off his tongue. Rick been into it lately. Into mutilation and castration. Into horrific things, that make Mister Blaire shiver in pathetic fit of panic.

This is bad. Like really bad. 

He has to say something.

“You adapted well.” Blaire forced out, ignoring the noticeable throbbing in his jaw. Rick’s grip hasn’t loosened at all. He doesn’t seem to have any problems with hoisting Jeremy in one position. Not even a single jerk or leer of tiredness has passed through his tight muscles. 

And it’s kind of terrifying, if Jeremy's honest.

But not as terrifying as Rick’s oversized scissors (where the fuck did he even get them from?), that's hanging dangerously close to Blair’s crotch, pressing the blunt end of its blades to inner side of his thigh.

It’s threatening and vaguely sexual.

Not unlike Rick, though.

“Yeah, yeah.” Trager agrees, shears snapping almost playfully beside Jeremy’s pantleg. The flat side of blade accidently slips to the right, nudging Blaire's clothed dick, making the younger man whimper in mix of horror and abrupt shock. “Crazy how it happens, no? I was an office rat like you, but look at me go! No more paperwork or boring meetings. I am my own boss now!”

“Yes, y-yes…it’s – that is-“ Jeremy forgets what he wanted to say, afraid that Rick’s patience is running thin. Trager might think, that it will be fun to play buddies again, but he will soon get bored of this polite conversation and then – what he will do then?

_He’ll kill you, like he killed everyone else._

“Say…” just as Blaire predicted, Trager grows more serious, switching back to straight-to-the-business mode. “Why are you here, Jeremy?” Rick cooks his head to the side, his long, unkept nails burying themself into Jeremy’s skin, without any care or regard of his comfort. “I thought, that you would be the first one to run away. Just like ya know, you usually do. You are so damn good at saving your own ass.”

There is embittered, biting edge to it. 

An old rusty wound, that probably becomes bigger and bigger, the longer Rick looks him in the face. The same face, that he saw, when he was convicted and written off as a new Variant. 

When Trager was strapped down to metal table, Jeremy was smirking at him. “It’s not-“

“You have always been like this.” Rick continues, expression as limited as it is, slowly distorting into an ugly, barely contained snarl. “Leaving everyone behind. Always thinking only about yourself and your own safety. You dirty, deceitful son of bit-“

“R-rick!” Jeremy blurts out, instinctively grabbing other’s wrist. The pressure on his jaw becomes a bit too much for him to handle. “It – it hurts, s-stop!”

“Aww, is that so?” Trager coos, not even a bit sympathetic. His wary fingers are as merciless as metallic forceps. They just keeps on compressing his jaw. “You think _this hurts_? You think, _that it's painful_ , huh, Jer?”

“S-s-stop!” Jeremy chokes out, wishing that he could thrash in place, but with Rick’s scissors being shoved between his legs, this is quite a difficult task. Even if it is painful, he can’t let himself forget about other risk at hand. “R-rick!”

“Oh shut it, Jeremy!” Trager barks, any kind of compassion is gone from his voice. “Just shut the hell up!”

“B-“

“ **SHUT UP!** ” Rick yanks him up by the neck, leaving Jeremy wangling in his hold. “I don’t joke around, you piece of shit!” 

Jeremy swear, that he hears his jaw creaking in protest, just one step away from being dislocated. He stands on his toes, peering at Rick in panic. He knew that it was coming. Rick won’t just forget what happened, but Jeremy never considered how slow or fast it will happen.

Will Rick kill him off right away or will he torture him for days?

Taking in account, that he can barely draw breath now, it’s more likely, that Trager will kill him on pure accident, rather than dismember him on operation table. And maybe, it’s a mercy on itself. To die like this and not feel his organs being harvested out of him. 

But Jeremy Blaire wants to live so stupidly hard, that he has to try and do something. 

He has to. 

“Rick, please! Y-you don’t want to do this!” 

Trager studies him for a long moment, without any words relocating his hold lower, directly on Jeremy’s neck, making his Adam's apple bob in terror. Rick’s fingers are wry and cruel, but they are surprisingly calculating. 

Unlike most variants, Trager is still somewhat intelligent. 

Responsive. 

But it might be a bad thing. 

“I told you to shut up.” Rick doesn’t sound as angry as he did a minute ago, but there is something off about the way he says it. “Can’t follow a simple command, Jer? I mean, you never could. But duh, buddy.”

Jeremy can’t answer. He just hangs in there, eyes watering and lungs burning. This not a situation, that he ever imagined himself in. 

“You know, Jeremy-“ Trager starts, apparently in good mood again. “I’m not sure what to do with you. I want to kill you. To make you pay.” he grinds out the last word, puncturing it with strong thrust of his bone shears. It goes up in jerky, unstable flash of metal and unwanted friction. It seems to be compulsive on his part, because he does it again and again. On repeat.

Up-down, up-down, up-up…

Jeremy grunts, spreading his legs wider, both afraid and also perplexed from a familiar tingle in his crotch. It might be because there not enough oxygen in his brain, but he can feel warmth blooming inside his guts. Curling in the lower half of his body against his will. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“But…!” Rick talks and talks, and talks. He doesn’t notice anything; he keeps on rambling. He tells Blaire how he would have loved to gouge out his eyes and something about cutting his balls off. The word ‘cut’ presents in his monologue a lot. 

Jeremy doesn’t really listen. Blood pouring inside his ears, drowning out the sound. His face feels all funny, like a dozen of tiny needles pricking at it. His jaw growing numb and his fingers are wooden up. Crooking and twitching in painful spasm. 

Rick doesn’t really pay any attention to how hard he grips his neck. Jeremy is pretty sure, that his face almost turns purple at this point. His thoughts stumble inside his skull, and a lot of it doesn’t seem to make sense. Something-something murder Park, something-something should run and prevent information from leaking…

He only realizes, that Trager's gone quiet, when he focuses his gaze onto other man again. Rick’s face framed in a black hue, the electric light behind his back seems to become dimmer somehow. It barely bleeding past Rick’s pointy shoulders, creating an eerier glow around him. Jeremy blinks or he thinks he does. It hard to tell what level his body is operating on anymore. 

“Huh.” is all that Rick says.

A dull, thoughtful sound. 

Jeremy tries to produce some kind of noise of his own. Yet, nothing, but stressed air comes out. 

“Have something to say, buddy?” Blaire’s throat is spasming, lines of saliva drips down his chin, pooling onto Rick’s hand, which is not something, that he wanted at all. Rick pays him no mind. “That’s what I thought.”

“Uckk!” Jeremy doesn’t know what to do as he feels Trager’s grip becoming downright lethal. His hurried, half-formed plea gets stuck inside his throat; stopped by Rick’s shifting, murderous grip. He never was this deeply in shit before. Never was this close to dying. “R-uk!” 

Everything gets fuzzier and fuzzier by each passing second, but the sensation of huge scissors onto his cock is still lingering. Jeremy suspects, that he might have gotten hard from all the jerking and snipping. Gotten rock-hard with his eyes barely open, and his face turning into unhealthy shade of blue. This is new low for him (sort of).

And no…

_No_ , he certainly has got hard. He can feel the press of zipper, the wicked tug in his guts. As if to taunt him, his barely conscious state, makes it even more apparent, that he sports an erection. 

By that time, Rick finally puts two and two together, - when he finally noticing - Jeremy is barely present enough to hear him say, “Would you look at that…”

Blaire doesn’t want or need to look; he knows exactly what Trager is referring to. It’s not all that nicely hidden. He not super impressive in this regard (not at all), but bulge in his pants must be kind of showing off, due to position of the blade. His ballsack is basically resting on it. 

“Ack-h…” world keep on flickering in and out of existence, and there is nothing, that he can do about it. His lungs keep closing on nothing. Burning with each attempt to inhale the air. It’s excruciating. A drawn out action. 

Meanwhile, his genitals throbbing in whole another kind of agony. 

“Is this because you can’t breathe or-?” Rick mused, mostly to himself. The rusty surface of his blade pressing into Jeremy’s dick with new found curiosity. “Don’t tell me, that you one of those daddy’s boys, that can’t wait to get kicked around by an older male?” Rick lewdly smacks his lips or whatever he has left of them, sounding beyond happy with his assumption. “You’re such a tease, Jeremy.”

Blaire squeezed out a pitiful, small noise out of his abused throat. He might have hoped to save his dignity before, but it’s was a lost cause now. He would have been ashamed of himself, if he had possessed any lick of shame in the first place. 

It’s not like he hasn’t gotten his earlier promotions by sucking some old dicks. Everyone knew, that he was the type. He was ready to do anything, if it benefited him in long run. And some bigger businessmen found this trait of his amusing.

Rick apparently did too.

“And to think, I’ve been trying to be a gentleman with you. Pfff. Hilarious!” Rick snorts, rotating the blade slowly up and down, rubbing it against Jeremy’s manhood with clear intent. Raptly watching as Blaire’s body jerks from unwanted stimulation, clumsily following after it. “Like look at ya, all wet like some kind of overused home rag, just can’t get enough, huh?”

“Gh!” 

Jeremy never had a machoistic stick. At least, until this point, he would never succumb to something like this. Giving a blow-job, that would brought him promotion was one thing, but this was purely humiliating. Rick was taking a piss at him, getting kicks from how vulgar and silly it was for Blaire to act in such indignant way. Yet, it might have been what kept him alive. 

Not that, Jeremy had capability to thought about it too hard right now.

Far from it.

His eyes kept on rolling to the back of his head, hips cramping and jerking. It was his only impulse right now. To get off, to get rid of pressure inside his belly and balls. This was more pleasant alternative, than dwelling on his possible, soon-to-come demise. 

Rick was studying him, breathing though his mouth, teeth gritting into something, that resembled a smile, but could have been a pretentious smirk. 

Who knew with him anymore?

“You look nice like this, Jer.” Trager complimented him with ease, giving his throat a mockingly sensual squeeze. “You’re so - so uh…?” he tsked, forgetting the right word. “Ah, fuck. How do you say it?”

Jeremy watched him with glassy eyes. His hands lost any strength, simply hanging at his sides, spasming from time to time. It felt like his body was separated from his head. Or like his brain suddenly melted into puddle.

It was hard to comprehend words now. 

“Ooh! Ravished!” Rick laughed, finding it funny, that he forgot something this banal. “You look ravished, Jeremy.” he said, leaning closer to Blaire’s bloodless face, admiring it. They were almost nose to nose now. “You're kind of a pretty fucker, you know that?” 

The only answer, that he got was a stiff, raspy gasp. Trager cooed to himself, lazily twisted his wrist, changing the angle of the scissors, making the dull side of blade press into Blair’s dick hard enough for it to become borderline painful. 

And then, just painful. 

“Ack!” Blaire stuttered, somehow managing to close his legs around the blade, trembling as shock racked his frame. It almost made him cum on spot.

“I was thinking about taking advantage of you a few times.” Trager admitted with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “But it felt wrong to do that, because we were friends. And good ole Rick doesn’t roofie his buddies. No-no, sir! I have some manners!”

“Uck?”

_Roofie him…what?_

“It would have been so easy, though.” Rick sighs, eyes glazing into distance longingly. His wrist finds a new rhythm, making Jeremy’s dick drag over dull side of blade with very little pause in between. “Wasted opportunities, mmm.”

“Ahh…” 

Blaire’s stomach sucked onto itself in an agonizing manner. He was on verge of creaming his pants, but something stopped him from doing so. 

It wasn’t pride. He lost that a few hours ago. Somewhere between the moment, when he pushed one of the guards into Walker. And somewhere between, finding himself crying in the public restroom, because he thought that he was going to die. 

And Jeremy Blaire didn’t want to die. 

Not here, not by hand of those psychos. 

“You’re close, buddy? You look close!”

Jeremy blinked. Slow and drowsy, his head was full of cotton. It was impossible to understand what exactly Rick wanted from him. An acknowledgment? A confirmation? 

“R—ugg-“

Rick smirked, adding pressure onto his throat, enjoying the way Jeremy’s eyes dulled for a few seconds, becoming absolutely mindless. Empty. 

“I take this as yes.” Trager said in a cheerful, dismissive tone. “You have a wet stain on your pants by the way. Must be a mess inside your pants right now. Or more like, you’re about to make a bigger mess. Such a bad boy you are!”

Blaire shivered, when Rick started moving the shears again. It was pushing directly into his cock with enough force to make him see stars. Wrenched, gutted sounds escaped Jeremy’s throat with every bump. The friction as unkind as it was, managed to do it for him.

He was close. 

Really close. 

Jeremy also was close to fainting (or maybe dying). His eyelashes flattered a few times, as his eyes rolled back into his head. For about a minute, all that he saw was black. His chest burned and his legs gave out. He was only staying vertical thanks to Trager.

“Jer?” Rick was into his face again, urgent; Jeremy felt his rotten breath on his cheek or he might have imagined it. The smell of rot, that’s it. “Can you hear me? You making a very weird face right now, buddy. It's sort of freaky.”

It sounded so far away.

Could he-

“Hey, Jer!” a long nail dug into his cheek, probing at his flesh. “For fuck’s sake, Jeremy-!” 

Blaire cracked his eyes open. His eyelids were heavy and he had troubles with staying focused. But Rick wanted for him to be focused. To give him a proper response. Jeremy tried his best, but only more drool come out. 

It was good enough for Trager. 

“Oh. You’re alive!” Rick said with hint of relief. “Thought that I broke your neck for a second there.” It was honestly surprising, that he didn’t. “You must be reeeeally close then.” if Jeremy could nod, he would. But Trager to his credit understood everything without any words. “Wait, let’s do this…” he muttered. 

Rick suddenly unclenched his fist, letting Jeremy inhale. The air rushed into Blaire’s lungs and brain, immediately making him dizzy, and disorientated. His first attempt to take a deep breath turned into long, violent coughing fit. His body shook from the power of it, making everything in his chest burn with effort to suck in at least some oxygen. Jeremy rapidly blinked away the tears and sweat. Was that’s it then? Was this how Rick decided to end this? 

Only one thought passed through his mind as he stood there. Simple, primitive it pumped along with his heart beat. 

He didn’t want to die; he didn’t want to die! 

“R-rick…wh-ack!” Trager suddenly grabbed his tie, tugging him closer, effortlessly forcing Jeremy to double over the blade, making it press onto his weeping cock just right. He still used the dull side, thankfully. “Ah, sh-shit…gh!”

“You should work on your bedroom talk, buddy.” the scissors moved again, grinding against Blaire’s sore crotch. Unrhythmic and severe. Up and down, up, up, up. 

Jeremy’s tiny, pathetic moan got lost in raspy cough, as the blade made another powerful jog, before stilling between his legs. Blaire’s hips jerked once, twice, chasing after the sensation. “Shii-khh-“ 

“Are you done, Jer?” Rick inquired, rotating scissors for the last time, brushing it against Jeremy’s cock just so ever slightly. “You kind of convulsing, buddy.” 

Just like that, Mister Blaire was cumming inside his pants, all while keeping the eye contact with Rick. It must have happened too fast or maybe, it happened too slow. Jeremy felt like he had blacked out for a few seconds. Gone blind. The only thing, he was able to process fully was how something thick and wet started dripping down his leg. 

Did he just…? 

For real? 

“Whoa.” Trager whistled in glee, letting Jeremy slumber over him, powerless and spent. “You’re alright there, Jer?” he asked, chocking Blaire a bit with his tie as younger man almost slipped down onto floor into boneless heap. “Haven’t thought, that it would be this intense for you.”

“I-“ still trembling, Blaire awkwardly clung to Rick’s shoulders. His pants felt soiled with spunk and sweat, and his throat hurt like bitch. His face was wet with tears and saliva. He must have looked like a mess. 

There was nothing smart to say about it. He should be happy, that he managed to not piss himself.

“What are you, in shock or something? Come on, don’t be such a baby. Grow a pair, will ya?” Rick scolded him jokingly, dropping his giant scissors in order to pat Jeremy on the back. He used to do that, when he won in their golf matches too. So much poorly masked mirth. No pity for the loser. “This was fun, no?”

Blaire wasn’t sure how to respond. He felt sort of gross, and it rarely happened with him. 

“Rick-“ he began, voice scratchy and wrecked. One lock of his black hair had escaped its gelled cage, dangling in front of his face, but he had no power to slick it back. “Rick, pl-please-“

“Yeah-yeah. Please spare me, I won't do it again...blah-blah-blah…” Trager ignored him, instead wetting his finger, and easily fixing Jeremy’s hair back to normal. Slicking the rebellious turf back, where it belonged, as if he hasn’t just strangled the living fuck out of Blaire a few seconds ago. “Here you go, buddy.”

It was weirdly gentle gesture, but Jeremy was too scared for his life to pay it much mind. “Rick, we can think of something.” he supplicated, downgraded to his very bones. “I can get us out of here. I can-“

“Back to begging?” Rick drawled out, wrapping Jeremy’s tie around his hand, and yanking on it so hard, that Blaire tripped over his own legs. “We only had started, Jeremy! Don’t spoilt it!”

“H-had only started…?”

“Why, yes!” 

“Wha – Rick-!“

Blaire had no choice in the matter as Trager began walking, dragging him along. They passed a few closed doors, before the agonizing screams had entered Jeremy’s ears, making his blood freeze.

_Oh, shit no, no, no!_

He knew, where Rick was taking him to.

“Rick!” he shouted, starting coughing right after it. His damn throat was being uncooperative again. His own tie felt like a noose. “You can’t do this!”

“Don’t be such a wuss, Jeremy.” Rick said in manner, that one would use with a very disobedient, stupid dog. “I’ve been nice to you, haven’t I?”

Jeremy opened and closed his mouth. He wasn’t sure, that chocking him and watching him humping a large pair of bone shears could be described as ‘being nice’. But Jeremy Blaire was just as morally bankrupt as the next Murcoff executive, so his views on what is right and wrong were kind of vague. 

Like very vague. 

He had some real troubles with wrapping his head around it all. 

“It’s time for you to repay me for my kindness!” 

“I…” a small frown formed between Jeremy’s brows, when he dared to ask, “How exactly?”

Trager pretended to think, before flashing Jeremy one of his most wolfish smirks. It sent a shiver down Blaire’s spine. He tried to cringe away, but Rick’s grip on his tie prevented him from backing off. It kept him rooted in place. 

“Oh, Jeremy. Jer…old buddy.” Rick gave him a once over. Hungrily taking in his bloodshot blue eyes, the angry marks on his neck, and most of all, the wet stain on his pants. “Just like you said, we can think of something!”


End file.
